


End of a Day

by b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s



Series: TaeKai Oneshots [2]
Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, implied eating disorder, taekai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s/pseuds/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s
Summary: Taemin is out cold as soon as his head hits the pillow. Their bodies learned very young to rest whenever possible (and Jongin suspects that they both may have started replacing sleep with unconsciousness long ago). He, too, is dead tired, but his mind just won’t shut up.





	End of a Day

Taemin is out cold as soon as his head hits the pillow. Their bodies learned very young to rest whenever possible (and Jongin suspects that they both may have started replacing sleep with unconsciousness long ago). He, too, is dead tired, but his mind just won’t shut up. He lies in bed for a while, watching Taemin sleep. His skin is too tight, too hot, all itchy. He doesn’t want to wake Taemin, so he sneaks out of bed, his feet making quiet tap-tap sounds on the floorboards.

Jongin pulls himself up onto the wide window ledge, hugs his knees to his chest, tries to make himself as small as possible and hides his face against his knees. This is how it always starts. Slowly, methodically, he picks apart the day: Mistakes made while dancing. Stupid things said during their interviews. A smile not genuine-looking enough in front of cameras.

Jongin tries to breathe, but there is something heavy squeezing his chest, crunching his ribs together. His throat feels like he swallowed fire. Jongin thinks about the company boss being at their premiere event, smiling like a proud father, his eyes on them, expecting them to do their very best, to prove they are worth the money invested in them. He remembers, too, not being able to speak English well, not understanding the details of some of the questions asked. Was there a moment when he forgot to smile? Did he seem excited enough? Happy enough to see the fans? The young ones were so scared. Did he do his all to take the worst of the pressure off them?

Jongin’s shoulders shake, the glass of the window is cold against his side. He presses against it, draws his knees even tighter against his body, wishes he could just magically disappear. There were many nights like this during his time as a trainee. After evaluations, he lay awake for hours, going over every mistake again and again to make sure he trained his mind and body to do better next time.

The long flight, the jet lag and the crazy schedule are a dark, swirling mess inside of him. There are so many new people and foreign places here, and everything feels different and smells different and tastes different and he is not strong enough for this, he is not good enough for this.

‘Kai world domination. Kai center of centers. King Kai. Sharpest dancer. Dancing king. Look at those perfect proportions.’ Jongin sees them, of course, the headlines and the tweets, all the comments and messages. He reads so much praise and it makes him happy, but he knows deep down he can never live up to it. They will all be disappointed in him, they will realize soon that he is nothing so perfect, that he is nothing but a fraud. Between the praise that drives spikes of inadequacy through his very core, he finds the words of contempt - belittling his career, his work, his dancing, his voice, his life, telling him to lay off the plastic surgery before he turns into even more of a monster, telling him to lose some weight, to gain some weight, that his hair looks unhealthy, that his dancing sucks, his singing sucks, that he should focus on a solo career, that he should focus on EXO, that he should never date.

Jongin’s skin crawls with tension, cold sweat is starting to drip down his temples and he lifts his head, looks at Taemin’s comforting, familiar form under the blankets, his chest rising and falling in a quiet, gentle rhythm. But Jongin’s mind won’t let him have even this anchor. Instead, it releases thoughts he is so ashamed of he has never shared them with anyone (thoughts he keeps hidden deep down in a pitch-black place inside his mind). Hated memories of the time after Taemin’s debut with SHINee. Now, during these hours of the night, when everything is dark and terrible already, they creep put, web their spindly fingers around his soul, whisper terrible things into his ear: He was so jealous. He was so angry that he was not chosen. He was so afraid that he had been right all along, that he was not good enough, that he would never be good enough. That Taemin was skinnier than him, that Taemin was prettier than him, that Taemin was a born dancer, that Taemin was graceful in a way he could never be. Jongin remembers sitting in the corner of a practice room way after curfew, curled up on himself, his shoulders shaking, self-hatred and doubt and fear shredding his insides while his best friend was away being famous and adored and beautiful and talented and perfect.

Hunger is gnawing at Jongin’s insides, his stomach trying to devour itself in a vain attempt at finding sustenance. It is part of the job, Jongin knows. The diets. He is used to it, used to the light-headed feeling of low blood sugar and almost-fainting. He swallows against the burning pain in his stomach. Just a few more pounds, he wants to look perfect for their press schedule and the showcases, his lines need to be perfect. A little less weight will also make the turns easier, the jumps smoother, so he doesn’t fuck them up like he did in rehearsal yesterday. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A breath gets all tangled up in his chest on the way out of his body, drives hot pain through his sternum. Jongin tries to muffle his sobs, but they hurt so bad and his chest is so tight that he cannot keep them quiet for long. He can’t breathe. His heart is beating way too fast, too fast, this can’t be normal. What if he - he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t – he needs to get up and get out and – his chest hurts so bad and his eyes won’t focus – he is dying. He is dying! He needs - he needs -

Taemin sits up suddenly. His head snaps in Jongin’s direction and he gets up, crosses the room in a few swift, stumbling steps, and wraps his arms around Jongin, drawing Jongin’s head against his chest. Jongin closes his eye, curls his fingers into Taemin’s sweater, holds on impossible tight. His chest is burning and his head is swimming, there is no air to fill his lungs, the panic a vise around his brain and his heart. But Taemin is an anchor in the swirling hot pain. Jongin hides his face against Taemin’s neck, finds the pulse there, quiet and comforting and familiar and alive, nuzzles the point where he can feel it beating against his skin, lets it calm his erratic breathing. He counts the little beats against his lips, lets the rhythm gentle out his breath and his own pulse. Taemin keeps stroking his fingers through Jongin’s hair, his face against Jongin’s temple, whispering quiet things, gentle words repeated so often they are almost not really words anymore: “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Jongin thinks: ‘How can it be okay? What if I can’t do this,’ but what he says is: “I’m sorry I woke you up, please, go back to sleep.” His voice sounds small and a little broken I the darkness.

Taemin shakes his head and mumbles sweet, soothing things into Jongin’s hair, holds him tight, gently running his fingers down his back. Jongin cries into Taemin’s shirt, huge sobs that make everything hurt. It is very quiet in but for Jongin’s choppy breaths and stupid sobs, he cannot hear a sound from the adjacent rooms of the house they are sharing for their time in LA, everyone exhausted after the flight and their busy schedule.

Jongin looks up, wipes his eyes. Taemin gently runs his fingers over Jongin’s wet cheeks, cups his jaw. He doesn’t have to tell Taemin why he is awake, why his breath is all fucked up. Because what is shredding Jongin to pieces lives in Taemin, too. Lesson they learned so young they have turned into an inner voice that says: ‘You must be perfect. You must not make mistakes. You must look your best. If you hurt, you push through. If you doubt, you snap out of it. If you feel, you ignore it. If you love, you practice until you forget. You are not quite human. You are not quite real. You are what we tell you to be. You are what we made you.’ 

Jongin shivers and Taemin gets a fuzzy sweatshirt from his suitcase, wraps Jongin up in it, rubs his shoulders and arms to warm him up even though Jongin doesn’t know if he is really cold at all. When Jongin’s sobs have quieted a little, Taemin kisses his temple and gets to work. He is wearing a huge sweatshirt the wrong way around, his hands drowning in the sleeves. He looks so small like this, fragile in a way he has never really been. Just like Jongin’s razorblade thoughts shredding his inside, this is something that began years ago. Taemin strips the bed of sheets and comforter and pillows, moves armchairs as quietly as possible, knots and tugs and works until he is satisfied with his construction. He takes the small lamp from the desk in the corner of the room and places it inside the quiet space he has created, careful not to set anything on fire with the heat of the lamp (a lesson learned the hard way).

When Taemin flips the light on, a white, quiet blanket fort has taken shape in the room. Taemin pulls Jongin from the window ledge, leads him into the space he has made, and they sit down on a soft, downy blanket, white sheets all around them. The smell of fresh linen and warm light replaces the iron tang of fear on Jongin’s tongue. The world becomes a strange, glowing place where things are a little bit softer, the edges of everything less rough, the light muted and quietly reminding Jongin’s eyes that there is more to the world than darkness and strange, moving shadows.

Jongin curls up on the blanket, his head in Taemin’s lap, and inhales the familiar scent of Taemin’s sleep-warm skin. Taemin starts talking about nonsensical things, small details of the days past that he remembers – how different Starbucks tastes here, which drinks he wants to try before they have to fly back, how much he loves the wide-open spaces here, the sky stretching endlessly. Taemin’s voice is low and quiet, the sound gentling the blows of Jongin’s thoughts, until Jongin’s chest stops heaving, his breathing even and slow, his heart a steady beat in his chest again. He closes his eyes for a blissfully deep inhale, pulls back a little to look at Taemin. There are deep bruises beneath Taemin’s eyes, his own self-doubt and worry visible in the tired lines on his face. Jongin cups Taemin’s face in both hands, surprised, always, at how small it is, how fine the bones beneath the skin. Jongin leans in, slowly, and kisses Taemin’s lips. Despite the lack of sleep, Taemin doesn’t hesitate to tilt his head, deepen the kiss, draw Jongin in closer. He shifts to climb into Jongin’s lap, when Jongin’s stomach growls like a hungry wolf.

They both burst out laughing. It was an inside-joke, back when growl was released, that the song was named for the growling stomachs of everyone in the band. They had been on strict diets for their debut and Jongin still remembers experimenting with coffee, cold water spray, herbal essences and cold medication to keep himself from fainting during practice and on stage. In retrospect, it may not have been all that funny.

“When was the last time you had a full meal?”, Taemin asks. Jongin thinks about lying, but Taemin’s eyes bore into his as if saying ‘go ahead, I dare you’ and Jongin chickens out.

“A week ago,” he answers truthfully.

Taemin nods, something dangerous on his face. Jongin knows the deep anger is not directed at him, but at those who have engrained these ideals in him – trainers and teachers, managers and choreographers, photographers and stylists.

“You want chicken or burgers or both?” Taemin asks and Jongin shakes his head.

“No, Taemin-ah, please,” he mumbles, “I don’t want to – please, just a few more days, it’s fine, really, I need to-“

“You need to eat, Jongin.” Taemin’s voice is quiet steel.

“Please, don’t – Taemin, it’s fine, I promise, I –,” Jongin starts, but they both know it’s all lies. They are on the same diet and Jongin has taken it way further than asked of them. He is worried to eat because he is afraid he will binge once he allows his body the taste of actual food again. He needs to feel in control as a way to cope with the anxiety and the self-doubt.

Taemin lifts Jongin’s shirt up, touches the deeply carved valley of his stomach, the grooves between his ribs. Jongin follows the movement of Taemin’s fingers, the touch sending small shivers over his skin, little pinpricks of almost pain, until he has to bite his lip. But when Jongin meets Taemin’s eyes, there is worry in them. Taemin caresses the hard angles of Jongin’s body, touching bone where there should be softness, and starts to cry.

“No,” Jongin says, too loud in the quiet night, “shh, no, Taemin-ah, you don’t have to worry like that.” He sees Taemin nod and try to pull himself together, but it doesn’t work. Jongin hates himself and he is hurting and he is afraid and he needs to be skinnier, better, but what he needs most of all is to make Taemin stop crying like this.

“Who in their right mind would choose a burger over chicken?” He says in an attempt to make Taemin laugh. He doesn’t.

“I love you,” Taemin says, very quietly. He meets Jongin’s gaze, open and vulnerable, leans forward and touches their lips together. Something small and warm spreads its wings in Jongin’s chest.

Taemin orders a whole bucket of fried chicken (he hopes, they both struggle with understanding the website and the menu) and convinces security that this is a food emergency. While they wait for the delivery, Taemin gets a pouch from one of his suitcases (still unpacked, because he is Taemin) and dumps the colorful contents into Jongin’s lap.

“What the hell?”, Jongin says and Taemin bursts out laughing.

“What? I thought we may have a sugar emergency and here we are,” Taemin says, gesturing towards the colorful wrappers, “I was right, as I always am.” Jongin lifts an eyebrow and chooses not to comment on that any further. His mouth is watering like crazy.

There is so much candy that they could probably make themselves sick with it, like they did after EXO’s debut. It was a few nights after Jinki overheard them talking about the best way to dull hunger (Taemin suggesting soaked cotton balls, Jongin swearing by tiny sips of warm water). Jinki had sat them down in the kitchen of SHINee’s dorm and had put a huge box of assorted candy on the table in front of them, telling them to fuck the diet and the fucking industry for its fucking sick standards and to fucking eat the fucking candy like the fucking children with free fucking will that they were. They had devoured it all in one sitting and been sick the rest of the night. But it had been the start of this ongoing rebellion that meant, that still means, they can keep little parts of themselves.

Taemin unwraps a bright red lollipop and taps it against Jongin’s lips, watches as Jongin sucks it into his mouth. Jongin can see Taemin’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Jongin closes his eyes on the soft moan that escapes his throat. The sugar, sticky and sweet, turns his blood to honey, everything prickling and alive inside of him. After such a long time living on coffee and steamed veggies and the odd protein bar, the sugar high sends shivers through his whole body.

Taemin pulls the lollipop back, leans in and licks sticky sugar from Jongin’s lips, his tongue, before pushing the candy back into Jongin’s mouth. The white, soft space around them makes Jongin feel safe in a way he doesn’t feel in his own head. He watches the red candy disappear into Taemin’s mouth now and again, revels in the feeling of sticky sweet lips against his. They share enough candy for the hot pain in Jongin’s stomach to dull down. When Taemin unwraps another sweet, Jongin buries his fingers in his hair, pulls him forward and kisses him with purpose. Taemin sobs a surprised sound into Jongin’s mouth, opening up readily.

Jongin pushes at Taemin’s clothes with impatient hands, strips him of his sweater and pants and licks sticky sweet trails all over the exposed skin. Taemin moves restlessly against the soft blanket they are lying on, tilts his head back to expose his neck. Jongin wraps his fingers around the lean column of Taemin’s throat, squeezes just enough to make Taemin moan, not enough to leave any marks. It is when Taemin pushes his hands up Jongin’s shirt that the fucking chicken arrives.

Jongin votes for ignoring it, but Taemin won’t have any of that. So Jongin tries to put himself back together enough to answer the door. He hopes he looks less flushed and turned on than he feels, but the grin on the security guard’s and the delivery man’s faces makes him suspect he is not so lucky.

They eat in their blanket fort. Jongin inhales the first pieces of greasy chicken without a word. After that, Taemin makes him spell out the worries in his mind, shares his own in return. They talk about the fans they saw upset about this new project, the worry that this will fail after all the work they put into it. But other things, too: Jongin’s fear of disappointing everyone, of never being good enough. Their shared fear of not being there enough for others, of being found out, of never getting to live truthfully. Jongin is still haunted by the horrible things he read and heard and saw when they made him pretend to date women. He is very afraid that those in power were right and people would have been infinitely more upset had they known the actual truth (that he loves, he loves so deeply that he cannot let himself think of ever being with anyone other than the man currently feeding him fried chicken in the middle of the night in the blanket fort he built for Jongin).

When their bellies are full, Taemin props an iPad up in front of them. It is almost night time back home, Jongin’s eldest sister surely at home by now, the kids getting ready for bed. The call goes through, with two dry noses and one black wet nose filling the entire screen. Jongin scrunches his entire face up from laughing.

“What are you doing?”, his sister calls in the background, “He can’t see you like that! And I told you not to feed the puppy any more cookies, you little monsters.”

Jongin curls his fingers around Taemin’s, squeezes gently.

“Uncle Jongin, have you been to Disney Land, yet?”, an excited voice pipes, while the picture shakes and moves to reveal his niece and nephew cuddled up on the couch with their puppy. “Did you see any mountain lions? Dad says they’re totally real!” “How many doughnuts have you tried? Are there ones with rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles?”

The kids get Jongin and Taemin to share everything they have seen and eaten and done in the US so far (including the disappointing lack of mountain lions AND rainbow unicorn fairy sprinkles). The kids excitedly tell them about their day and the new panpipes their dad got them (which draws a long-suffering sigh from their mother who, Jongin guesses, has been the audience for many hours of panpiping ‘concerts’ today). They share their plan to make Jongin and Taemin take them to a new aquarium, because they want to give all of the fish names. As the kids’ eyes start getting a little smaller, their smiles a little more tired, their mother leans down into the frame. She gently tousles their hair, but her eyes are on Jongin. She looks at him, knowingly, worry in her eyes.

“I love you, little brother,” she says quietly. “Take care of yourself and come home safely, we miss you very much.” There has always been a steely kind of strength in her and she lets him see it now. It is as much a reminder for him to heed her words as it is a promise that should anyone try to hurt him, they will have to deal with her. She smiles at Jongin and Taemin both. “You’ll make all of the US fall in love with you,” she says, “be safe, loves.” The kids throw digital kisses that Jongin and Taemin laughingly return before they end the call.

In the quiet night that falls around them, Jongin snuggles into Taemin and they make plans for the next day, coffee drinks they want to try and gifts they want to pick up for their families. They research the aquarium the kids were talking about and try to find a date in their busy schedules when they will be free to take them. Everything is so alive and real and bright that Jongin’s dark worries finally, truly subside.

Taemin is leaning over his schedule on the iPad with the cutest frown on his face when Jongin buries his hand in his blonde hair and pushes him back against the blanket. He kicks the iPad away and covers Taemin’s body with his own.

Jongin lets his body roll once, twice, connecting them head to toe. Taemin gasps into his mouth, returns the movement in a sinfully slow pace that makes static crackle in Jongin’s mind. Taemin laughs at him and rolls his body again, sucking Jongin’s lower lip into his mouth and drawing away with a hint of teeth.

Jongin strips them both faster than he planned, too greedy, runs his hands all over Taemin’s soft, pale skin. There has always been so much strength in Taemin’s body, but there is a new bulk to his shoulders and his arms (he would tell Taemin how much it turns him on, but Taemin is obsessed enough with his new muscles, thank you very much). Jongin traces the shell of Taemin’s ear with his tongue, draws breathy sounds out of him that should be illegal.

Jongin thinks they should take this slow, but he can’t calm down enough to pace himself. He blames all the sugar in his blood, heightening every sensation, making his skin burn in the best way. Taemin sobs quiet pleas against his lips, licks into Jongin’s mouth, his fingernails biting into Jongin’s back. Jongin props himself up on one elbow and reaches between them, his fingers wrapping around them both. The sensation is enough to make them break the kiss, Jongin hissing against Taemin’s lips.

Jongin holds Taemin’s eyes as he starts to move his hand, their lips close enough to touch. He watches Taemin’s blown pupils cloud over with pleasure, urges Taemin to keep his eyes open. Something white hot pools in Jongin’s belly and he tries to slow down, to draw this out.

Then Taemin says his name, all quiet, and the last shred of Jongin’s control just snaps. He bites Taemin’s neck, hard, draws back to watch pain melt into pleasure on Taemin’s face. Jongin picks up his pace, moves his hand in tandem with his racing heart. Taemin writhes against him, sobs nonsensical words and Jongin’s name, over and over. Jongin watches Taemin’s eyes shatter, feels his body shake all around him. Taemin moans deep and wrecked, Jongin can feel the sound on his skin and then everything is breaking apart around him, splitting into shards of lightning. He trips over the sun, falls into the night sky and tastes the light of the stars.

It takes them a while to come to, everything lose and warm and fuzzy. The first things Taemin does is unwrap a piece of colorful candy to push it against Jongin’s lips. Jongin laughs, sucks the sugary sweetness into his mouth. They share candy and sticky kisses until it is almost impossible to keep their eyes open.

Jongin makes them get up and take a quick shower and brush their teeth (to Taemin’s decided protest), before they snuggle back into the blankets. In the soft white light all around them, Jongin can see fine strands connecting Taemin’s heart and mind to his, attached in a myriad of places. They are spinning a web between them, complicated and beautiful and unique, shimmering silver and white. Jongin is safe and enough and happy and full and his blood is liquid honey. Taemin presses tiny kisses against Jongin’s face, and in between, whispers words they have said against each other’s skin so many times that they, too, have become a weapon against the lessons ingrained upon them too young. Truths they promised each other long ago they would never forget: “You are real. You are a person. You feel pain. You suffer. You hurt. You want. Your heart beats all alive and pumping red blood. You have a soul that belongs to you and you alone. Your opinion matters. Your voice matters. Your heart matters. You love. And you are so very loved.”

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone else listen to "End of a Day" when you are super tired but just cannot go to sleep? This is a product of a few restless nights and watching way too many clips from the SuperM debut. Thank you so much for reading <3 if you find the time, I would love to hear your thoughts <3


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